


Jeeves and the Baiser Florentin

by Wotwotleigh



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, WODEHOUSE P. G. - Works
Genre: Comedy, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:43:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wotwotleigh/pseuds/Wotwotleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Jeeves and the _Baiser Florentin_  
 **Author:** Wotwotleigh  
 **Chapter:** 1  
 **Pairing:**   Jeeves/Bertie  
 **Summary:** Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Words:** 3,705, so far  
 **Disclaimer:** Jeeves and Bertie belong to Wodehouse. I'm just writing this for fun. 

Hard experience has taught me that it is just when things are at their most oojah-cum-spiff that Fate generally decides to jump out from behind a bush and slosh you in the midsection with a sand-stuffed sock. Fat-headed though we may be, we Woosters tend to learn our lessons, once we have been biffed a few times. Looking back over the whole thing now, I really ought to have seen it coming.

I was sauntering about London one afternoon, a snatch of some popular melody on my lips, and it would have been clear to even the most casual of observers that Bertram was in fine spirits. The birds tootled merrily. The lark bunged itself along on the wing, and the snail adhered firmly to the thorn. In short, God was in his heaven and all was right with the world. I was filled to the eyeteeth with _bien être_ and goodwill toward man and beast.

It was in this general frame of mind that I began drifting in the direction of that jeweller’s on Bond Street that I sometimes frequent. I had some vague idea of obtaining a pair of understated silver cufflinks that I had caught Jeeves gazing at in a wistful sort of manner one afternoon when he had come to meet me outside of the Bollinger. I felt like doing the sterling fellow a good turn, and I had already used up the local bookery’s supply of Spinoza. Apparently he hadn’t put out any fresh stuff recently. I procured the goods and was just leaving the establishment when Fate suddenly decided to manifest itself in the vicinity of my third waistcoat button.

Fate had, on this occasion, chosen to take the form of a small, roundish female, hidden somewhere beneath a teetering pile of parcels and shopping bags. She had been emerging from another shop – some sort of purveyor of feminine acoutrements – and her trajectory had intersected with my own. We extracted ourselves from the resulting debris of hat boxes and colored tissue paper, and as I was helping her reassemble the fragments, she paused to get a good dekko at my map.

“Oh my gosh!” she squeaked. “Is that Bertie Wooster?”

“In person, not a picture,” I replied. I tried to doff the lid, but it had apparently come unstuck in the collision. She found it amongst the scree and jammed it jauntily onto the Wooster bean.

“Well, well, well! Golly! It’s been ages, hasn’t it?” She paused, and gave me an accusing once-over. “You _do_ remember me, don’t you?”

“I certainly do, Margie, old blister,” I replied. “How could I forget?”

You may or may not have read my account of that whole sticky business with Madeline Bassett, Gussie Fink-Nottle, Tuppy Glossop and my cousin Angela that took place shortly after my vacation in Cannes. If you have, you will remember me mentioning that, during said Cannes sojourn, I had been ticked off in no uncertain manner by a girl for delivering a particularly fruity soliloquy on the subject of her fiancé’s legs. Mind you, I didn’t commit the act in cold blood. She had solicited my opinion, and had set the tone of the proceedings by asking if I didn’t consider them Nature’s last word in ridiculous underpinnings. A leading question, if ever I’ve heard one. In any case, the upshot was that, by the time she got finished giving me what for, I felt more like a piñata at the end of a party for juvenile delinquents than anything human. Well, what I’m trying to get at is, this was that girl.

To look at her, one wouldn’t have thought her capable of that affronted mother tigress stuff. Margie Gascoigne was one of these Helen Kane-ish little popsies, all raven curls, saucer eyes and dimples. Attractive enough, if you go in for that sort of thing. 

“Say, listen, Bertie,” she said, as I helped her reload her cargo, “maybe you can help me. I’m looking for a place called the Drones.”

“Say no more, young Margie. The Drones happens to be my home away from home.”

“Wonderful! You’re a doll, Bertie!” I think she would have clapped her hands in girlish enthusiasm if it wouldn't have upset the ballast all over again. “I’m supposed to meet my fiancé outside of it in about fifteen minutes, and I haven’t a clue where it is.”

“Follow me," I said suavely, "and your troubles shall soon be at an end. Fiancé, eh? I thought surely you two must have hitched up by now.”

“What? Oh.” She gave a snort like a disgruntled steam engine. “When you saw me last, I was still with that blighter with the legs. Well, that’s all off. Goodness, I don’t know what I was thinking. That would have been the bloomer of a lifetime, don’t you think, Bertie?”

I weighed in with a carefully neutral “Oh, ah.” “Forgive and Forget” may be the Wooster motto, but our other one is “Safety First.”

“Anyway, I’ve found someone else.”

“Oh, ah,” I said again, taking up the refrain. “Is this one a little more up to specs?”

“It wouldn’t even be a fair comparison,” she sniffed, shunting a couple of parcels into my arms as we walked. “Will you carry those for me? Thanks, Bertie, you’re a darling. He’s _terribly_ handsome.”

“Well, that’s a start.”

“Oh, yes. Here, take a couple more. He’s like a cross between Rudolph Valentino, Ramon Navarro, and Clark Gable,” she said, warming to her theme, “with maybe just a hint of William Powell about the eyes.”

I was about to comment that this sounded like some kind of bally monstrosity out of Greek mythology, but I thought better of it. I opted instead for a safer “Well, well!”

“And he’s ever so bright,” she said, hanging a couple of shopping bags off my nearest arm. “He studied the Classics at Oxford.”

“Ah, an Oxford man, is he?” I said, unsuccessfully dodging an incoming hat box, which hit home firmly on top of the pile.

“Sure,” she said. “He was at school with you. He talks about you all the time.”

I wracked my brain for an old school chum that looked like a terrifying hydra with the heads of four or five different popular stars of the silver screen, but none came to mind. Before I could enquire further, she continued.

“Anyway, he can tell you all you ever wanted to know about the relative merits of Thucydides and Herodotus. If you want to know the difference between a Mede and a Persian, he’s your man.”

I was struck by one of those sudden inspirations that one is struck by on occasion. “Is there a difference?” I said. “I’d always heard that one man’s Mede is another man’s Persian.”

She stopped abruptly, and although I couldn’t see her past the surging sea of boxes that was now blocking almost my entire field of vision, I could tell that she was giving me one of those irked tigress looks. “Are you quite done?” she asked.

“Oh yes, that was all I had to say on the subject.”

“Good,” she said coldly. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

“No, no. Do go on.”

“As I was saying, he’s practically perfect in every way. He’s got the whole works: handsome, intelligent, charming, sweet. But . . .”

“Ah. There is a snag?”

“It’s just that . . . he’s so frightfully boring!”

After the build-up the chap had been getting up to this point, I must confess that this came as a bit of a surprise. I would have scratched the head, had I access to any of my fingers. “Boring, eh? What do you mean by boring, exactly?”

I sensed a bit of uncomfortable squirming in my peripherals. “Well, _you_ know,” she said. “Boring. All he ever wants to do is talk. I’m lucky if I can get a friendly pat on the hand out of him. Sometimes, if he’s feeling really daring, he’ll give me a brotherly peck on the cheek. It’s as if he still thinks it’s nineteen-aught-one, and a chaperone is going to pop out at any minute and rap him on the knuckles if we so much as let our elbows touch.”

I saw all. “Ah. One of these old-fashioned fellows of delicate sensibilities?”

“Is that what it is? I just figured him for a fathead.”

“Well, there’s always that. What is the name of this paragon?”

“Peveril,” she sighed, with a sort of soppiness I would not have expected from a girl who had just let it be known that she was affianced to someone who went by the name "Peveril."

"I don't know any Peverils," I said.

"Of course you do, you ass! Peveril Fitzralph. You were at Eton and Oxford together."

I started, nearly causing an avalanche of hat boxes. “Old Fungus Fitzralph?” I cried. “Good gosh, I do know him!”

“Fungus?” she said, sounding as if her own delicate sensibilities were a bit ruffled.

“A little joke amongst us old school chums. He insisted on cultivating a full set of whiskers the whole time he was at Oxford,” I explained. “He thought it gave him a distinguished whatsis.”

She clicked the tongue. “That sounds like something he would do. Well! Speak of the Devil!" She unshipped a "Yoo-hoo!" and a clatter of high heels told me that she had left my side.

Peering over the crest of the mountain of parcels, I perceived that we had fetched up against the Drones, and that my old chum Fungus was among those present.

\---

It was a pensive Bertram who trickled into the old homestead a short while later. My native hue was sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought. I hadn't had time to chat with Fungus beyond a couple of desultory what-hos and a bit of well welling before he decanted Margie and packages into the two-seater and tooled off, but I had seen enough to confirm Margie's testimony. I bunged my hat onto the hat rack and was about to call for Jeeves when the man himself floated in and good afternoon sirred.

"Jeeves," I said, as he helped me out of the outermost crust, "I've just seen my old school friend Fungus Fitzralph over at the Drones."

"Yes, sir."

I raised a curious eyebrow. I had been expecting something less in the nature of an affirmative. "You seem unsurprised, Jeeves."

"The young gentleman called at the flat earlier, sir. He was desirous of soliciting your advice."

" _My_ advice?"

"Yes, sir. He is facing a predicament that is romantic in nature, and he thought that you, being more experienced than himself in such matters, might be able to offer a solution."

Well, I must say I was dashed flattered. While those in my circle come from far and wide to seek Jeeves' counsel, I am generally regarded as a goof of the first water. My advice is received with an indulgent pat on the head, at best.

"Good lord, Jeeves," I said, scratching the bean. "Well, you know I am always the first to leap into action when the time comes for all good men to come to the aid of the party."

"Quite so, sir."

"But I'm dashed if I know what to suggest. He seems a hopeless case to me."

"You are familiar with the young gentleman's difficulty, sir?"

"I am," I said. "I heard the whole story from the female half of the sketch, and then I got to see him in action. The poor blighter is just like the chap in that song, you know the one."

"Sir?"

"I can't remember the name of it, but it's been all the rage at the Drones lately. There's a line in it that goes, 'He's up in his Latin and Greek, but in his shiekin', he's weak.'"

"I am not familiar with that particular composition, sir."

"Well, you should try it over on your pianola sometime, Jeeves. It's a corker. But as I was saying, up until I saw him just now, I was at a loss to understand why any self-respecting girl would work herself into such a lather over the chump."

"The gentleman's appearance has changed since you last met, sir?"

"I'll say it has, Jeeves. When I laid eyes on him earlier, I felt a bit like stout Cortez staring at the Pacific, silent upon that peak in whatsit."

"Darien, sir."

"Right. Anyway, he's no longer the algae-encrusted gargoyle that I knew in my younger days. He's divested himself of all trace of whiskerage, for one thing."

"A sound decision, sir," said Jeeves gravely. He takes a strong view in matters of facial foliage. "He also looks as if he's been taking in a few Swedish exercises along with his morning toast and kippers, and now bears more than a passing resemblance to Michelangelo's David."

"There is a distinctly Byronic aspect to the young gentleman's appearance, sir."

"In short, just the sort of chap that any red-blooded beazel would give her eyeteeth to hitch herself to."

"Precisely, sir."

"And this poor girl has fallen for him like a ton of bricks, only to find that he's got all the pash of something on a slab of ice. When they met just now, to fling her arms around his neck and gaze up at him in the manner of a girl who expected her face to be covered with burning kisses was, with her, the work of an instant. But Fungus, the dumb brick, just said 'Hullo, darling,' and stood there patting her on the shoulder."

"No doubt frustrating for the young lady, sir."

"Precisely, Jeeves. _Rem acu tetigisti_. But," I said, cutting straight to the heart of the thing, "why?"

"Sir?"

"I mean to say, what's wrong with the blighter? Why the reticence? Doesn't he care for the little blister?"

"Mr. Fitzralph was kind enough to confide in me, sir. The problem does not stem from a lack of affection for the young lady, but rather a lack of confidence. He feels that his lack of experience would impair his ability to cosset the object of his adoration in a manner that would meet her exacting standards."

I sucked in the breath and clicked the tongue sympathetically. "Poor old Fungus!" I said. "But still, he rather brought it on himself, what? While the rest of us were honing our technique on the local fauna, he was busy cultivating his whiskers and poring over Corinthian capitals."

"So he gave me to understand, sir."

"And she, meanwhile, is expecting him to play the part of one of these silver screen lovers with the flaring nostrils and the Arabian headgear."

"Yes, sir. The young lady is so disgruntled by the situation that she has spoken forebodingly of ending the engagement unless he becomes more demonstrative."

"And you say he wants my advice?"

"Yes, sir."

I chewed the lip a bit, and lit a thoughtful gasper. I had to confess I was at a loss. "I'm at a loss, Jeeves," I said, coming to the _res_. 

Jeeves coughed gently, and gave me that look that I have come to recognize as signifying that he has got the goods and is about to come across with a corker."If I might make a suggestion, sir?" he said.

"I was hoping you would," I replied.

"Given the young lady's apparent flair for the cinematic, sir, I feel that perhaps all that Mr. Fitzralph requires is a bit of theatrical coaching."

"Ah. Give him a little stage business, you mean."

"Precisely, sir. I recently attended a cinematic entertainment in which the protagonist experienced a disagreement with object of his affections. This situation culminated in a heated argument between the two lovers. At the climax of this exchange, the young lady expressed her intention to sever her relations with the gentleman, in response to which he grasped her firmly by upper arms, informed her that he would brook no such nonsense, and enfolded her in a passionate embrace. She was so moved by this display of passion and manly resolve that she melted in his arms and tearfully declared her love for him. They then put their differences aside and were happily reunited."

I shook the lemon. I had spotted a flaw in his scheme. "It's good stuff, Jeeves, and it's just the sort of thing females of the Margie Gascoigne type tend to eat up with a spoon. But I don't see how it will work."

"Sir?"

"Well, even if Fungus is able to learn his lines and blocking, what about the dénouement? I thought the nub of the issue was that he is one of those bashful birds who goes to pieces at the thought of attempting anything more than the auntliest of pecks."

"Yes, sir. He will no doubt require specific instruction in the nuances of osculation as a supplement to the course of action I have already outlined."

"Are you saying that he will need kissing lessons, Jeeves?"

"Precisely, sir. The kiss itself, as you have already perceived, is essential to the approach that I am proposing. The burden of his expression of passion must be borne by the kiss, which is, after all, the fiery accompaniment on the keyboard of the teeth of the lovely songs which love sings in a burning heart."

"Good lord, that's a ripe gag. One of yours?"

"No, sir. I was paraphrasing the poet Verlaine. In the original French—"

"Now is not the time, Jeeves."

"Yes, sir."

"We must stay focused on the matter at hand."

"Very good, sir."

"Where were we? Ah, yes," I said, finding my train of thought again. "You were saying that someone needs to take the poor benighted sap in hand and explain to him the basics of smooching."

Jeeves coughed gently. "Or, rather, to demonstrate them to him, sir."

I struggled to catch his drift. "Demonstrate? As in, actually kiss the blighter?"

"Demonstration is the most efficacious method of instruction in physical technique, sir."

"Yes, I see what you mean, Jeeves. A chap can't learn to Charleston by listening to another chap give him a blow-by-blow of the procedure."

"Precisely, sir."

"But," I said, coming to the crux, or nub, of the thing, "who is going to do the dirty deed?"

He unshipped a second gentle cough. "You, sir, were the person who sprang immediately to mind."

I goggled. You could have knocked me down with an f. "Jeeves," I said, when I had sufficiently recovered my powers of speech, "are you saying you want me to kiss Fungus?"

"Yes, sir."

"He'd never go for it," I pointed out.

"You think not, sir?"

"Use your intelligence, Jeeves. You could while away an entire afternoon heaving bricks in the middle of the busiest street in London without beaning a single chap whose idea of a large afternoon is to spend it being kissed by Bertram Wooster."

A muscle at the left side of his mouth twitched in an inscrutable manner, if inscrutable is the word I want. "One might be surprised, sir."

I hadn't the foggiest notion what he was on about, but I decided to let it pass for the moment. "Anyway, even if I could convince him to let me inflict my lips on his person, I'm not exactly up on this smouldering Hollywood stuff myself. I've always been more old-fashioned in my approach. I doubt I could dish out the kind of goods that these hard-case modern girls tend to go in for."

Jeeves stood for a moment in silence, putting on one of his better stuffed frog impersonations. I waited respectfully for him to come to the surface. I find it's better to let him percolate in peace in these moments. At length, my patience was rewarded.

"I may be able to offer a solution to that particular difficulty, sir," he said. "However . . ." And with that, he sort of fizzled out. I had the distinct impression that he was letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would".

"Why this cat-in-the-adaging, Jeeves?" I asked.

"I simply feel that what I am about to suggest might easily be taken in the wrong spirit, sir."

"You don't think I'll like it?"

"The possibility does occur to me, sir."

"That doesn't usually stop you," I pointed out.

He ramped up the stuffed frog routine a notch or two. "It is a matter of propriety, sir."

"Well, at least tell me what you have in mind," I said. "It can't be much rummier than what you've already suggested."

"Very good, sir. I merely thought, sir, that I might be able to impart a technique to you, which you could then, in turn, impart to Mr. Fitzralph."

It didn't take long for his meaning to penetrate. We Woosters are quick to catch on. I started visibly, and looked at him with a wild surmise. I tottered and clutched at a passing armchair. "Jeeves," I said, when the tongue at last became untangled from the tonsils, "are you proposing to kiss me?"

"I hope you will not feel that I am taking a liberty, sir."

I chewed the lip a bit. I remember that Stiffy Byng once asked me if one might kiss Jeeves, and I had replied without hesitation that one most certainly might not. But then, the chap never ceased to astonish me with his hidden depths. If you had told me only a few years ago that he was the sort of bird who would go about the place coshing policemen and being named Reginald with impunity, I would have had a good laugh at your expense. But, there you are. It just goes to show that you never can tell.

"Good lord, Jeeves," I said. "I mean to say, gosh!"

"It is only a suggestion, sir." 

Incredible, of course, but what could I do? Experience has taught me that Jeeves' loonier-sounding schemes are often his ripest. I shrugged the shoulders. "Well, Jeeves," I said, "you know best, of course." I tilted up the bean, closed the eyes, puckered the lips, and waited for him to deliver the goods.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.

It became apparent after a few moments that no action was forthcoming. I unpursed the lips and opened an inquisitive eye. "Well, Jeeves?" I said.

He was regarding me quizzically, a rummy expression on the finely chiseled f. He made one of his distant sheep noises. "I was merely thinking, sir, that the demonstration would be more effective if you did not anticipate my embrace."

"I don't see how I can jolly well not anticipate it," I said. I wasn't sure what it was, but something about the whole scenario had me feeling dashed rummy. If someone had come up behind me at this juncture and tapped me on the shoulder, I probably would have broken the record for the men's Olympic high jump.

"Perhaps, sir, if you will allow me to set the stage . . ."

"Set away, if you think it would help."

"The scenario that I outlined for you previously, if you will recall, sir, was based on the trope of what I believe is commonly called the 'make-up' after a lovers' quarrel."

"Yes, yes, I follow you, Jeeves," I said, sipping at an impatient whiskey and s. that he had prepared for me at some point during our earlier banter.

"There are many who maintain that an expression of passionate physical affection, delivered unexpectedly at a moment of strong emotional tension, can be profoundly affecting."

"So I've heard. I remember Bingo telling me once that he sometimes sets off a tiff with the wife on purpose just because he knows what comes next will be absolute dynamite."

"Precisely, sir."

I pondered. "But our relations of late have been positively matey. What do you propose, Jeeves?"

"A simulation of a tense encounter would suffice for our purposes, sir. Suppose, for example, that I were to strangely forget myself and remark on the fact that the mint-green soft-bosomed shirt in which you have chosen to attire yourself today is unsuitable and in highly questionable taste, particularly when combined with your grey houndstooth check suit. The effect, if you will pardon me for saying so, is frankly bilious."

I drew myself up indignantly. I have had clashes with Jeeves over matters of derniere mode before, but he is not usually so dashed direct. I was distinctly pipped. "Well, really!" I said, and I meant it to sting.

"I was merely speaking hypothetically, sir."

I was not to be dissuaded. His comment had gotten right in amongst me."The devil you say! I happen to like this shirt, Jeeves."

"Very good, sir."

"And don't go saying 'Very good, sir' in that soupy tone of voice. I have spoken to you about this disturbing habit of yours before."

"As you say, sir."

A moody silence passed between us, during which I tossed the rest of my w. and s. down the hatch and Jeeves put in a bit more stuffed frogging. Then the dratted blighter picked up right where he had left off.

"Let us say – again, hypothetically, sir – that I then went on to address the matter of your heliotrope pyjamas."

My two eyes, like stars, started from their spheres and waggled about on their stalks. I could scarcely believe my ears. "Dash it, Jeeves, you really have reached the frozen limit!"

"I am sorry, sir, but I feel that such a garish color is hardly –"

I could see that the time had come to be firm. He had gotten above himself in no uncertain fashion. "No, Jeeves," I said coldly, "I will brook no further oompus-boompus in this matter. Say what you will about my daytime raiment, but I will not have you editing my sleepwear. This is simply beyond the pale." I drove the point home by smiting a nearby table with the side of my fist.

"Admirably performed, sir. Your ire is quite convincing. At this juncture, sir, having taken umbrage at my remarks –"

"I jolly well do take umbrage, Jeeves, with knobs on!"

"—you would, perhaps, turn away, with the intention of dismissing me from your presence."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said yet," I replied. Following his suggestion, I turned haughtily on my heel, bunging in an indignant toss of the head for extra emphasis. I had only completed about 160 degrees of my rotation when I felt the pressure of a firm but gentle hand above my right elbow, and I was suddenly facing the blister again.

"If you will pardon me, sir," he said, in a voice that could have frozen the Atlantic, "I was not finished addressing you."

I stared. "Well, of all the bally n—" I said. I would have rounded it out with a decisive "erve", but Jeeves had suddenly attached himself to the lower slopes of my face and was proceeding to give me the works.

The first thing that occurred to me, once I sufficiently regained my capacity for rational thought, was that Jeeves had got the right dope when he had said that it was no jolly good trying to describe this stuff. Even the most silver-tongued orator would have been at a loss to capture in words the sublime drama that was unfolding in the vicinity of the Wooster lips. I felt as if I had just received an injection of about fifteen of Jeeves's pick-me-ups directly into my spinal column.

I'm not sure how much later it was that we finally disentangled ourselves from the clinch, but when we did, it was only by clinging to a passing Jeeves that I managed to maintain my verticality. It would not be overstating things to say that I was all of a doodah. Jeeves seemed to flicker and waver before my eyes, and I found myself sagging at the knees. I felt as if some practical joker had slipped in and replaced my tibias with jelly when I was otherwise occupied. I quivered from base to apex.

I took a couple of stabs at saying something, but my tongue seemed to have tied itself around my tonsils, and all that came out was a sort of strangled whiffling sound, like a tea kettle that has not quite got around to boiling.

Jeeves didn't exactly smile, because he never does, but through the mists I thought I perceived the slightest flicker around the south-east corner of his mouth. "Shall I prepare a refreshment for you, sir?" he asked politely.

I gave him an affirmative gargle. 

"Very good, sir," he said, and withdrew.


	3. Jeeves and the <em>Baiser Florentin</em>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.

**Title:** Jeeves and the _Baiser Florentin_  
 **Author:** Wotwotleigh  
 **Chapter:** 2.5?  
 **Pairing:**   Jeeves/Bertie  
 **Summary:** Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Words:** 1,469  
 **Disclaimer:** Jeeves and Bertie belong to Wodehouse. I'm just writing this for fun. 

Here's a little more!

[Part 1 is here. ](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/940289.html)   
[Part 2 is here. ](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/941775.html)

ETA: I just wanted to let you all know how much I appreciate the kind comments. You guys are awesome. Unfortunately, I'm going to be incredibly busy all weekend, but hopefully I will have more for you by the beginning of next week.

By the time Jeeves shimmered in with the restorative, my powers of speech had returned. I gazed up at him wonderingly from the armchair into which I had sunk. "Jeeves," I said, and admit my voice may have trembled a bit, "you are a marvel."

"It is good of you to say so, sir."

"You have unquestionably come across with the right stuff."

"I am delighted to have been of service, sir."

"A kiss like that would melt lips of stone. Margie will be putty in Fungus's arms, assuming he can pull the thing off. I wouldn't put it past the web-footed muddler to somehow bungle the whole project." I paused for a moment to restore the tissues. A question had been rattling about somewhere in the back of the bean, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The stimulating effect of the spirits I had just put myself around the outside of brought it trickling to the surface at last. "The thing I want to know, Jeeves, is why?"

"Sir?"

"Not that I'm complaining, but why didn't you lay that stick of trinitrotoluol directly on Fungus? Eliminate the middle man, as it were?"

"It would hardly be my place to take such a liberty with the gentleman, sir," he said. "Besides, I felt that the procedure would be better received were it to come from you, his trusted friend and peer."

"Well, perhaps you're right. You usually are."

"Thank you, sir."

"Just speaking sooth, Jeeves."

"I would also ask, sir, that you do not reveal the source of the method to Mr. Fitzralph."

"Really, Jeeves? Well, if you say so, but you know I am always a man to give credit where credit is due."

"An admirable sentiment, sir, but I must insist upon discretion in this matter."

"Oh, ah," I said, seeing all. "Another of those guild secrets of yours, is it? Something you picked up from the chaps at the Junior Ganymede?"

His map flickered in a rummy manner before he spoke. "Something of that nature, sir."

"Well, I must say, those Ganymedians are a strict bunch. But I wouldn't want to see you standing in the middle of a hollow square of butlers, getting your buttons snipped off. Your secret is safe with me, Jeeves."

"Thank you, sir."

"And I don't suppose it would stand either of us in any great stead if Aunt Agatha found out, what?" I went on.

"One shudders to think, sir."

"You remember how she reacted when Uncle George married that barmaid. She'd probably blow a gasket if she found out I had been going about kissing the domestic staff, even if it was for educational purposes."

He flickered again. "Precisely, sir."

"When am I supposed to have my _tête-à-tête_ with old Fungus, anyway?"

"Quite soon, I should imagine, sir. The young gentleman had expressed a desire to call on you this evening, after he had spent some time exploring the metropolis with Miss Gascoigne."

I started a bit. An unsettling thought had popped into the bean. "So soon, Jeeves? Gosh, I don't know if I'm up to it!"

"I am confident that you will perform the task admirably, sir."

"But . . . I've never tried it, dash it! I mean, not on the giving end of the thing."

Jeeves floated forward respectfully, and gave a gentle cough. "If you are in need of a subject on whom to test the technique, sir, I would be happy to lend my services," he said.

I gave a couple of quick gulps, and rose to my feet like a rocketing pheasant. "Good lord, why didn't I think of that?"

"I couldn't say, sir."

I gulped a couple more times, and took a step forward. For some reason I was suddenly feeling as bashful as dammit. It was as if an entire troupe of butterflies was performing a chorus act in my midsection. I stood there for a moment shooting my cuffs. A mere palliative, perhaps, but that sort of thing sometimes helps take the edge off at moments like this. "Let's take the preliminaries as read this time, shall we?" I said.

"As you wish, sir."

"Right. Here goes."

I had just slid my arms around him and was preparing to hitch up my socks and smack into it when the doorbell tootled. In my agitated state, the bally thing hit me like a fire klaxon. I leaped about five feet into the air, and was still staggering about and clutching at my hammering heart when Jeeves opened the door and Fungus Fitzralph bounded across the threshold. Jeeves evaporated, as is his wont on such occasions, leaving me alone with my old school chum.

 

\---

"What ho, Fungus," I wheezed, once the room had stopped spinning.

Fungus had been standing in the doorway breathing stertorously and looking like a portrait of one of those tortured Victorian poet chaps who are mad, bad and dangerous to know, to use one of Jeeves's gags. When I spoke, he suddenly sprang to life. "Bertie," he said, dashing forward, "I need your help. Jeeves said you could . . ." He stopped and frisked me with a critical eye. "I say, have you been having a couple? You're red as a brick!"

I drew myself up censoriously. "I have _not_ been having a couple," I said, although, sticking strictly to the facts, I had had exactly a couple. "I have merely been exercising. I am flushed with exertion."

"Oh, have you?" he said, raising a dubious eyebrow.

I drew myself up a little more. I was still feeling a bit rattled, and his manner was grating on me. I could feel my nerves starting to curl up at the ends. "Yes, I have. Is there something I can do for you, Fungus?" I said haughtily, dispensing with the idle chatter and getting down to brass tacks.

"Yes, there is. It's about Margie."

I held up a hand. My characteristic suavity was beginning to trickle back in. "Ah, yes. Well, never fear, old friend of my youth. I know all about it."

"And you have a solution?" he said, still raising the d. e.

"Yes, I do happen to have a solution, and I think you'll agree that it's a corker. It's all based on psychology. Dashed ripe stuff."

"Well, if you say so. When Jeeves said he couldn't think of anything, I figured it was a lost cause."

"I don't follow you, old bean. How do you mean, Jeeves couldn't think of anything? I had been given to understand that you came here earlier seeking _my_ counsel."

He gave a laugh, one of those hard, bitter ones. "Good lord, no. When he suggested I ask you for help, I nearly walked out. I thought he had finally gone off the rails. But he's usually right, so I decided it was worth a shot."

I stiffened. He had wounded my _amour-propre_. "Oh, you did, did you?" I said haughtily, and I would have put across a pretty sharply worded retort if he hadn't cut in.

"Yes, well, never mind that. Why don't you tell me about this sure-fire plan of yours?"

"Fine," I said, and with a few well-chosen words, I put him abreast of the basic ruse or scheme.

He shook his head moodily and put in a little pacing. "It seems like pretty flimsy stuff to me, Bertie. Your plot is riddled with holes."

"Show me one hole," I said challengingly.

"First of all, no man in his right mind would pick a fight with Margie," he pointed out. "She'd send Genghis Kahn crying to his mother."

"You don't have to do any picking. You could just wait for one to roll around naturally."

"Second, you're forgetting that the whole dashed problem is that I don't know the first thing about kissing girls."

"No," I said, "but I do."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me how it's done?" he said, shooting me a supercilious glance, if supercilious is the word I want.

It occurred to me, as I eyeballed him back, that if one had to go kissing chaps – which, until my encounter with the recent Jeeves, was an occupation to which I had never given the most passing of thoughts – then one could do worse than this particular chap. As I mentioned earlier in my narrative, this Fitzralph had matured into a positively pulchritudinous specimen, well endowed with thews and sinews, dark wavy hair, smouldering eyes, and all the fixings. And yet, I found that the prospect did not fill me with _espièglerie_. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I felt that the last thing in the world I wanted to do was kiss the blighter, and hanged if I was going to do it.


	4. Jeeves and the <em>Baiser Florentin</em>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.

**Title:** Jeeves and the _Baiser Florentin_  
 **Author:** Wotwotleigh  
 **Chapter:** Aw, heck, let's call it 4.  
 **Pairing:**   Jeeves/Bertie  
 **Summary:** Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.  
 **Rating:** G (or PG for a vague description of a French kiss)  
 **Words:** 2,499  
 **Disclaimer:** Jeeves and Bertie belong to Wodehouse. I'm just writing this for fun. 

I'm finally semi-recovered from my incredibly busy weekend, and I'm back with more of this silly business! I'll try to be better about answering comments this time around, since I'm no longer up to my neck in work. :)

[Part 1 is here. ](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/940289.html)   
[Part 2 is here. ](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/941775.html)   
[Part 3 is here.](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/942225.html)

 

I must have been lost in thought for some time, because when I finally came back to the surface, Fungus was making impatient noises at me.

"What did you say, old man?" I said.

"I asked you why the devil you were just standing there gaping at me, and if you were or were not going to tell me about your technique," he replied, a little peevishly, I thought.

"Yes, Fungus," I said, twiddling my tie in what was meant to be a nonchalant manner, "that is precisely what I am going to do."

"What is?"

"I am going to tell you about my technique."

Not ideal, of course, for reasons already outlined, but I didn't see any way around it. I couldn't say why, but every fibre of the Wooster being was recoiling that the thought of kissing this blasted Fitzralph. The man may not have been vile, but the prospect didn't please, either. I would have to put my ears back and issue a firm _nolle prosequi_ on any osculatory action. The only thing for it was to take my best whack at describing the whole procedure. Fungus started yes-well-go-oning at me, so I steeled myself and plunged in.

"Well, ah, you know," I began. "Run your fingers through her hair. Girls always go in for that sort of thing."

"Oh, that's good stuff," said Fungus, nodding approvingly and producing a pen and a little notebook from somewhere in the recesses of his costume. He began scribbling feverishly. "Run fingers through hair."

"You might tickle her ear, while you're at it."

He snorted incredulously. "She's a girl, not a cat."

"Still, she'd probably like that. The ears are sensitive, you know."

"If you say so," he said, scribbling some more. "Ears . . . sensitive."

"Maybe knead her necktie a bit."

He lifted his beezer from the notebook and gave me the eye. "Margie doesn't wear a necktie."

"Oh, doesn't she?"

"No."

"I thought she might."

"Well, she doesn't."

"There's no accounting for girls' fashions these days, you know."

"I tell you, she doesn't wear a necktie. I would have noticed."

"Whatever you say. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. Just knead whatever upholstery comes to hand."

"Why should I do that?"

"Dash it, how should I know?"

"It's your technique."

"Well, don't do it, if you don't want to. I just thought it added a certain whatsit."

"Let's skip over all that extra business for now," he said impatiently. "What about the kissing part?"

I chewed the lip a bit and squirmed uncomfortably. "Ah, yes. Well. This kissing part, eh? Yes, the kissing part."

"Go on."

"You, ah . . . well, you don't pucker up, if you know what I mean. Keep the lips open."

He gave me another eye. "Open, you say?"

"Right. You have to sort of work them around a bit. And – I'm a bit hazy on this part, but the tongue enters into it somehow."

He reeled. "What do you mean, the tongue? Are you suggesting that I lick her?!"

"Not exactly. Well, yes. No. Sort of."

He drew in a whistling breath. "Bertie, she's a girl, not a –"

"Yes, yes, you said that before."

"You didn't let me finish. Before, I said she wasn't a cat. This time I was going to say she's not an ice cream."

"I know she's not an ice cream. I never said she was."

"Then why all this business about licking her? I don't understand you, Bertie. You're blithering."

"I am not blithering!"

"Well, I say you are blithering. And you've come over all red again. Are you sure you aren't stinko?"

"I am not stinko!"

"Well, if you're not blithering and you're not stinko, what the devil is the matter with you?"

I tugged at the collar, under which I was feeling distinctly piquant. "Probably just dehydrated. I was exercising before you came in, you know."

"So you said."

"I'd better see if Jeeves has any lemon squash or something lying about. Wait here, old man. I'll be back with you shortly," I said, clutching the brow. I staggered out, leaving the bewildered fellow staring after me.

\---

"Jeeves," I said hoarsely, having stumbled into his lair and shut the door behind me, "the whole thing's a bust."

Jeeves looked concerned – or at least, as concerned as he ever looks. "I am sorry, sir."

I waved a magnanimous hand. "It's no fault of yours, Jeeves. The fundamentals of your wheeze are sound. I simply can't whack up the ginger to follow through on the bally thing. Call me craven if you wish, but I'm afraid I must say nothing doing."

"I see, sir."

"I don't know why I'm balking like this. At the thought of embracing you, I hardly batted an e."

"Most mysterious indeed, sir."

"In fact, I think . . ."

"Sir?"

"I think . . ."

"Yes, sir?"

I'm not sure what I was trying to say, because the whole thing is sort of hazy in my memory, but something kept bringing me up short. I gulped like a stricken bull pup. "I think I need a drink, Jeeves," I finally blurted.

He inclined the bean solicitously. "Are you well, sir? If you will pardon me for saying so, you look rather less than _soigné_." 

I didn't have the heart to break out my gag about being way down upon the _soigné_ river. Someday I shall find a way to work it in, but this was not the day. "Dashed if I know. Fungus seems to think I'm off my nut, and I'm starting to think he's right. I feel like an escapee from Colney Hatch. Mix me up something strengthening, if you would. I think a brandy and s. might meet the case, and go easy on the s."

"Very good, sir."

He was just fetching the restorative when I heard Fungus let out an impatient cry from somewhere in the outer sanctum."What are you doing in there, Bertie?" he hollered. "I haven't got much time!"

"What do you mean, you haven't got much time?!" I bellowed back.

"Margie will be here any minute! I told her to meet me here after she got done at Eulalie Soeurs!" came the answering howl.

"When you say 'Margie will be here', do you mean here as in here?!" I yelled.

Jeeves coughed gently somewhere abaft my right ear. "If you will pardon me for intruding, sir," he said softly, "your conversation with Mr. Fitzralph would be much facilitated if you were to join him in the sitting room. If you will proceed thither, I shall join you momentarily with your refreshments."

I had to allow for the fact that there was something in what he said. "Oh, ah," I replied, and oiled out.

 

\---

 

"You ought to have told me Margie was coming," I said reproachfully, when I was once again in the Fungal presence. In my present state, I was hardly in the mood to have the place cluttered up with Margies. The infestation of Fitzralphs was bad enough.

"Well, I'm sorry," he scowled. "I didn't think of it until just now." Suddenly, his face brightened. "I say, Jeeves, what have you got there?"

Jeeves had just filtered in with a couple of long glasses on a tray, looking quietly benevolent. "Brandy and soda, Mr. Fitzralph," he said smoothly. "I thought you might both enjoy a bracing cocktail."

Fungus and I both descended on the tray like a wolf on the fold. Whether or not our cohorts were all gleaming in purple and gold, I couldn't tell you."Skin off your nose," I said, addressing the company at large, and downed the soothing elixir in a single gulp. At that moment, the doorbell tootled again, and Jeeves floated off to answer it.

"That'll be Margie now," said Fungus. His perspicacity served him well. A few scant seconds later, Jeeves opened the door, and Margie blew in.

"Hullo, Jeeves," she said cordially. "What ho, Bertie, old ass." Then her face took on a sort of melting glow, and she fluttered on winged feet over to Fungus. "Peveril, _darling_ ," she said in a breathless warble, throwing her arms around his neck. "Kiss me, you chump."

"Ah, er, yes. Hullo, Margie," he said, turning about five shades of red and carefully extracting himself from her grip.

Margie shot me a pointed l. "You see? Just like I told you."

Fungus drew himself up. It was plain to see that he was taking this pretty big. The pride was smarting. "What do you mean, just like you told him?" he demanded.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?"

"You've been telling Bertie all about our troubles, have you?"

Not terribly sporting of him, I thought. After all, he had just been telling me all about their troubles not fifteen minutes ago. I thought about saying as much, but decided against it on consideration.

Margie was not so reticent. Her eyes flashed, and she tossed her raven curls like one of those Rosie M. Banks heroines. It was one of those things I didn't know people really did. "Yes, I jolly well have been," she said. "Why shouldn't I? Bertie's a pal."

"Oh, he is, is he?"

"Yes, he is."

"Terribly sympathetic, I suppose."

"Frightfully sympathetic."

"No doubt you wept on his chest."

"I did not, but it's not such a jolly bad idea. I'm sure his chest would be more fun to weep on than yours."

"What!"

"Bertie may be a colossal fathead, but I'll bet he at least has the sense to know when to put his arms around a girl."

"Oh, is that so? Well, let me tell you something, you little squirt –"

"Who are you to call me a little squirt? I wish you'd go boil your head!"

"Did you just tell me to boil my head?"

"I did, and I meant it! Or sautée it if you prefer. I don't much care what you do with it."

"Well, of all the – blast it, Bertie, why are you prodding me like that?!"

I'll tell you why I prodded. My keen Wooster senses had clicked into gear and were putting me onto the fact that this was one of those tides in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, lead on to fortune. "Do it now!" I hissed.

"Do what?"

I jerked the lemon meaningfully in Margie's direction.

"Oh!" said Fungus, turning vermillion. "Oh, ah."

"Go on!" I urged, giving him another good prod at the base of the spinal column.

"What's the matter with you two?" demanded Margie, growing hep to the fact that something was in the offing.

Fungus squared his shoulders and plunged in. Jeeves's restorative must have braced him up, for he set into the thing with a good deal of spirit. "Margie," he said in a commanding voice, "I have something to say to you, so you'd better simmer down for a moment and listen."

She gave one of her snorts. "Oh, really? Well, I'm not interested."

"You'll be interested in this," he said boldly, and he strode forward and wrapped his arms around her.

I mean, so far so good, what? I was feeling pretty bucked, thinking that he had the situation well in hand, and was just about to turn away discreetly when I noticed that all was not well on the Fungus and Margie front. She was squirming and sort of whacking at him with her handbag, making little indignant squeaks, and a quick glance was enough to tell me why. He was bearing down on the poor girl like a cross between Boris Karloff and an agitated halibut, all gaping maw and groping hands. The blasted blighter was following the letter of my teaching, but not the spirit.

I don't know if you have ever had the experience of watching someone foul up something that you're a bit of a nib at, but if you have, you'll know how dashed frustrating it is. I'm sure that Jeeves would be better than me at explaining the psychology of the thing, but the thing I've noticed is that it brings on an almost irresistible urge in most red-blooded birds to shove the bungler aside and do the dashed job yourself. Once when I was a pimply young lad in my days at Malvern House Preparatory School, I induced the Rev. Aubrey Upjohn to spend about half an hour showing off his skill on the unicycle in the middle of the school grounds simply by coming a few rather spectacular purlers on the thing in his presence.

It was much the same with me and this Fitzralph. "Not like that, you idiot," I said in a reproving sort of tone, and, having rent the two lovers asunder with a sharp yank on Fungus's shoulder, I gathered Margie into my arms and let her have it with all the spunk and ginger at my disposal.

A fatheaded thing to do, of course, and I knew I was making the bloomer of a lifetime before the lips had even docked at home port, but it seemed as if the laws of inertia had set in with unusual severity, and the whole sordid deed was already well underway before I could even think of turning back. And it was dashed good stuff, if I may say so. Margie melted in my arms like a pat of butter on a hot skillet. When I finally released her from the clinch, she stood swaying for a moment like a reed in a strong wind.

"Oh, Bertie!" she breathed, when speech finally returned. "Oh, _Bert_ ie!"

At that moment, the awful gravity of what I had done struck home. I have noted this disturbing tendency on the part of the female populace at large to go about the place saying "Oh, Bertie" at me before. Depending on the method of delivery, it can signify any number of things – usually, various levels of irritation – but this particular strain was the most sinister of all. I hadn't heard it often, but enough to know what it signified. A quick shiver wracked the frame, and I backed away a step or two.

"Yes, well," I said, and I gave one of those light, airy laughs, although it may have come off more like the death rattle of a strangled duck. "Well, there it is, and all that." I thought about elaborating on the theme, but nothing more sprang immediately to mind, so I subsided. 

Margie repeated the "Oh, Bertie" refrain a couple more times, and then biffed off, presumably to get some air or something. Fungus, who had been making motorcycle noises in the background throughout, shot me a look that went through me like a hot knife through treacle and took off after her, slamming the door behind him.   
  
I buried my face in my hands and howled for Jeeves.

  
 


	5. Jeeves and the <em>Baiser Florentin</em>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.

**Title:** Jeeves and the _Baiser Florentin_  
 **Author:** Wotwotleigh  
 **Chapter:** 5-ish, and entering the home stretch, I think  
 **Pairing:**   Jeeves/Bertie  
 **Summary:** Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Words:** 1,919  
 **Disclaimer:** Jeeves and Bertie belong to Wodehouse. I'm just writing this for fun. 

[Part 1 is here. ](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/940289.html)   
[Part 2 is here. ](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/941775.html)   
[Part 3 is here.](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/942225.html)   
[Part 4 is here. ](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/944313.html)

Here's a wee bit more!

 

As it turned out, Jeeves was already among those present. He had been standing quietly in the background, blending in amongst the lamps and armchairs and things. Upon hearing his young master's cry of distress, however, he stirred respectfully to life and drifted forward. "Sir?" he said.

"Did you see that, Jeeves?" I groaned.

A muscle at the corner of his mouth quirked indulgently. "I did indeed, sir. A most skillful performance. It appears that your lack of confidence was unfounded."

"No, dash it, you don't understand! I'm sunk! I kissed the wrong person! Now, no doubt, the blasted girl is going to hand her affianced the mitten and latch on to me. You just watch, Jeeves. She'll be coming back through that door any minute, speaking in ominous tones about how she thinks a small, intimate ceremony will be just the ticket."

That muscle quirked again. Jeeves never laughs, but my trained eye could sense that he was coming within a toucher of doing so now. I drew myself up. "Do find something amusing in this situation, Jeeves?" I asked coldly.

"A laughable misunderstanding, sir."

"Jeeves!"

"Forgive me, sir. It was tactless of me."

"Now is not the time for hilarity."

"No, sir."

"Here I am, neck-deep in the soup, and you're practically in paroxysms."

"Of course, sir. I do sympathize with your distress."

"I should jolly well hope you do. It was your dratted scheme that got me into this mess. That blasted kiss of yours is a menace to society. That sort of thing ought to be soundly checked. No wonder the Ganymedes have been keeping it under lock and key."

Jeeves coughed gently and assumed the stuffed frog mantle once more. I lit a moody gasper. "Well, I suppose there's nothing for it but to stiffen the upper lip and wait for the worst," I said at length, "unless you have something to suggest."

"Nothing occurs to me at the moment, sir, but I will endeavor to formulate a solution."

"Thank you, Jeeves."

"Will you be dining in tonight, sir?"

"I think so, Jeeves. I'm hardly fit for human society."

"Very good, sir."

 

\---

 

Jeeves's hash, though competently slung as always, turned to ashes in my mouth. I passed about half an hour pushing the food around on my plate and making bread pills before finally giving the whole thing up as a loss. I spent the remainder of the evening hiding in my chambers. I listlessly flipped the pages of my latest spine-chiller, but my heart wasn't really in it. I kept jumping at small noises, expecting Margie to come bursting in at any moment, talking wildly about the pros and cons of above-the-knee hemlines on trousseaus.

And Margie wasn't the only presence haunting the Wooster bean. I couldn't stop thinking about Jeeves. I mean, I think about Jeeves a goodish bit as it is, as any of you who are familiar with these little reminiscences of mine will know. I am generally the first chap to take notice of any number of the good fellow's scads of merits. However, until that afternoon, I had never given so much as a passing thought to the smell and texture of his hair, and now I couldn't seem to get the subject off my mind for anything.

When the hour of eleven-o-clock or so rolled around and there was still no sign of any Margies or Fitzralphs on the horizon, I finally crawled into bed and put a pillow over my head. I had a dickens of a time falling asleep, and when I did finally manage, my doss was disturbed by rummy dreams. I kept trying to kiss Jeeves, only to have him transform at the last minute into the Fungus of yore, sporting his full set of Oxford-era whiskers.

 

\---

 

I was awakened from the fitful s. at the ungodly hour of nine ack-emma by the tinkling of the doorbell. I stifled a groan – one of those hollow ones – and pulled the covers up to my chin. Merely staving off the inevitable, of course, but it took some of the edge off. Gentle sounds of stirring without told me that Jeeves was already on his way to admit the dreaded visitor.

His salutation, though muted, penetrated the door to my sanctum. "Good morning, Miss Gascoigne," he said.

"Good morning, Jeeves," came the reply. "I don't suppose Bertie's up yet?"

"No, miss. Mr. Wooster is still asleep."

I thought I perceived a little sigh. "I thought he might be. I don't suppose he usually climbs out of his coffin until the sun is starting to set."

"Might I enquire as to the nature of your visit, miss?"

"I wanted to talk to him about what happened yesterday."

I nestled deeper among the bedclothes. I was just telling myself that I may have had it, but my last few minutes as a free man should at least be cozy ones, when I heard Jeeves give that quiet cough of his. Hope stirred somewhere within the hollow depths of my bosom.

"I hope I am not taking too great a liberty, but if you might permit me to explain, miss. Mr. Wooster is—" 

Being familiar with Jeeves' form, I was anticipating something pretty fruity. But I never learned what he had in store, because Margie had suddenly cut him off with a silvery laugh. Had I not already been prone, you could have knocked me down with an f. after what she said next. "Oh, Jeeves," she said, having unshipped the aforementioned s. l., "there's no need for any explanations. I know the poor goof was only trying to help."

Jeeves sounded almost as blowed as I was, although it might not have been obvious to an untrained ear. "Indeed, miss?" he said.

"Indeed, Jeeves. Unlike that lovely idiot you work for, I'm smarter than I look. I know that dynamite smackeroonie wasn't really meant for me."

Under other circs, I might have taken issue with being called a "lovely idiot", but I had so much goodwill for the little blister sloshing about inside of me that she could have called me anything she liked, as far as I was concerned. In short, I was deeply moved.

"Most perceptive, miss," said Jeeves. 

"Oh, a girl can tell. I'm not saying it wasn't hot stuff – you'd need asbestos lips to come out of something like that unscathed. But something was missing. His mind must have been on someone else."

I had to bite my knuckle to keep back the hearty "Amen!" that was straining at my lips. Why, I asked myself, couldn't the Madelines and Honorias of the world tap into just a smidgeon of this beazel's keen insight?

"Say, where _did_ Bertie learn to kiss like that, anyway?" Margie asked, moving on to another subj.

"I really could not say, miss."

Apparently having decided that the source of my prowess was one of those unsolvable mysteries for the ages, she took up yet another thread. "Dear Peveril was in such a state. It was all I could do to keep him from storming back in here and throttling poor Bertie. I spent half the night calming him down."

"I am sure Mr. Wooster will be most grateful for your intervention, miss."

He was hardly doing my feelings justice. It was only by exercising the utmost restraint that I kept myself from leaping out of bed and going into a buck-and-wing dance.

"Oh, Jeeves," she went on in a wistful tone, "I've had some pipterinos, and I have to class that kiss up there with the best of them. But, funny as it sounds, it just made me realize how much I love Peveril. He drives me to distraction, but I'm absolutely dippy about him. Even Bertie's red-hot lips couldn't turn my head."

"I am most gratified to hear it, miss."

"I do wish there was something that could be done, though."

"Miss?"

"About this silly bashfulness of his. He seems hopeless."

"I feel I must differ with you on this point, miss. Although Mr. Wooster's pedagogical method proved ultimately ineffective, Mr. Fitzralph did demonstrate a marked eagerness to learn."

"Well, I'll give you that. It was awfully brave of him to try, wasn't it?"

"Indeed, miss."

"It's all ruined now, though," she said mournfully. "He saw Bertie's work. He's convinced he'll never be able to measure up. I'll probably have to work on him for another six months before he'll even think of trying again."

"If I might make a suggestion, miss?"

"You jolly well might, Jeeves! I'm all ears." 

"Perhaps, miss, if you were to initiate the embrace, rather than waiting for Mr. Fitzralph to do so, you would achieve more satisfactory results."

"You mean . . . I kiss him?"

"Yes, miss."

"The way Bertie kissed me?"

"A similarly nuanced delivery would be advisable, although you need not necessarily follow precisely the same form."

"Well, I'm sure it will be good fun, but what will it accomplish, in the end? I want him to learn to kiss _me_ , Jeeves."

"I suspect that Mr. Fitzralph, having received one such kiss from you, will yearn for another."

"And I won't give it to him?"

"No, miss. You must affect to be oblivious to his desire."

"Give him a taste of his own medicine, eh? I like it, Jeeves."

"Precisely, miss. Eventually, his concupiscence will overwhelm his diffidence."

I know most of Jeeves' gags by now, but that one eluded me. I made a note to ask him about it later. Margie seemed to catch his drift, at any rate.

"Golly, Jeeves! You think it will work?"

"The contingency is a likely one, miss."

There was a silence, and I could tell she was putting in a bit of concerned lower-lip chewing. "But will he know how to deliver the goods?" she finally asked. "He was doing an awful job of it before."

"I fancy, miss, that your demonstration of the proper form will aid his performance considerably."

"Gosh, I suppose it would at that."

"I would also point out that kissing, like dancing, is aided more by soul than technique. It is the underlying emotion that endows a well-executed kiss with its particular _je ne sais quoi_."

"I guess you're right," she said thoughtfully. "Coo, I'd give anything to know who Bertie was thinking about when he laid that lulu on me last night. She's one lucky girl, whoever she is."

"A most fortunate individual indeed, miss." 

Their banter continued for a couple more minutes, and I gathered from the timbre of their fat-chewing that the interview was drawing to a close. She weighed in with a couple how-can-I-ever-thank-you-Jeeveses, and he came across with a think-nothing-of-it-miss or two. He must have been ushering her over the threshold when she gave a sudden squeak.

"Oh, Jeeves!"

"Miss?"

"I nearly forgot! I found this last night. Bertie must have gotten it mixed up with my things when he was carrying all those bags and parcels for me. See that he gets it, won't you, Jeeves?"

"Of course, miss."

And with that, she biffed off, leaving me stymied. I hadn't the foggiest notion what she could be on about.

I didn't have to wait long for my answer. Not fifteen minutes later, Jeeves floated in with the morning sustenance. Nestled on the tray beside the kippers and toast was a small, handsome jewelry box. In the frantic rush of recent events, I had completely forgotten about those silver cufflinks.

 


	6. Jeeves and the <em>Baiser Florentin</em>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.

**Title:** Jeeves and the _Baiser Florentin_  
 **Author:** Wotwotleigh  
 **Chapter:** This is the 6th and final installment!  
 **Pairing:**   Jeeves/Bertie  
 **Summary:** Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Words:** 1,476 (out of a total of 12,131)  
 **Disclaimer:** Jeeves and Bertie belong to Wodehouse. I'm just writing this for fun. 

[Part 1 is here. ](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/940289.html)   
[Part 2 is here. ](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/941775.html)   
[Part 3 is here.](http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/942225.html)   
[Part 4 is here. ](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/944313.html)   
[Part 5 is here.](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/952057.html)

Finally done! I may polish this up a bit in the future -- we shall see.  


 

This sudden departure of v-shaped depressions from my horizon had left me considerably bucked. Although you will seldom find Bertram smiling before getting himself around the outside of the morning oolong, I was now displaying the pearly whites like nobody's business. I may not have actually greeted Jeeves with a tra-la-la on my lips, but it wouldn't have taken much to push me to the singing point.

"What ho, Jeeves!" I said.

"Good morning, sir," he replied. "I trust you had a restful night?"

"Absolutely abominable," I said cheerfully.

He elevated an eyebrow sympathetically. "I am sorry to hear that, sir."

I waved an airy hand. "Think nothing of it. We Woosters are resilient. We rise upon the stepping stones of our dead selves to higher whatsits."

"A commendable attitude, sir."

"Thank you, Jeeves. I rather thought so myself."

"Miss Gascoigne called this morning, sir, while you were asleep," he informed me as he deposited the tray of morning comestibles on the recumbent form. "I believe you will be most gratified to hear the details of our communication."

"I have, and I am," I replied, bunging some butter onto a piece of toast in a jaunty manner. "I was awake for the duration of your powwow. I heard all. Absolutely topping, Jeeves. It's funny how things work themselves out."

"Most satisfactory, sir."

"What a girl, Jeeves!"

"A most charming young lady."

"Such sympathy! Such understanding!"

"Yes, sir."

"You know, Jeeves, if it weren't for the fact that marrying her is the last thing I'd want to do, she'd be just the sort of girl I'd want to marry."

He gave me one of those looks, like a doting mother who has just observed her dimwitted child doing something particularly goofy. "Well, sir . . ."

I dismissed him with one of those light laughs. "No need to get the breeze up, Jeeves. I was merely making idle chit-chat. I suppose," I went on, pausing to toss a kipper down the hatch, "that you were probably about to bring up the subject of this jewelry box."

"I did intend to touch upon the matter presently, sir. Miss Gascoigne found the item among her effects, and was under the impression that it belonged to you."

"Well, she had the right dope, Jeeves. It does belong to me. It won't for long, though. I'm signing the thing over to you instanter."

"Sir?"

"It's a gift. Go on, have a look," I said, proffering the box.

He took it and subjected the contents to a brief examination. There was a sort of vague softening of the finely chiseled f., and the south-east corner of his mouth moved upwards about two millimeters. It was clear that the gesture had gotten right in amongst him and stirred him to his depths.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "You are most kind."

"Think nothing of it. I saw you mooning over them a few weeks ago when we met outside of Bollinger, and I thought they would look rather sharp on you. Nifty little things, what?"

"They do have a simple elegance which is quite attractive, sir."

"Rather like you, eh, Jeeves?" I said, and as soon as I said it, I realized it was a rather rummy thing to say. If Fungus had been there, I'm sure he would have commented on the shade of vermillion that was undoubtedly mantling the upper slopes. I tried to jab nonchalantly at a poached egg, but only succeeded in upsetting the restoring cuppa. "Oh, gosh!" I exclaimed, for lack of anything better to say.

"Allow me, sir," said Jeeves, and he deftly whisked away the tray and began dabbing at my torso with a tea towel that he seemed to have produced from thin air.

I don't know if you have ever been overcome by one of those strange impulses – you know, the sort that suddenly compels you to prod an unsuspecting chap in the hindquarters with your umbrella, or propose marriage to Bobbie Whickam. Well, I was struck by one of these impulses now. I grabbed the nearest available portion of Jeeves, which happened to be his right lapel, and yanked. He toppled forward with a startled "Oof!" – not a sound I knew to be in his repertoire – and I proceeded to enfold him in a clinch that made my work of the previous afternoon look like mere amateur stuff.

We grappled with each other for some moments before finally coming unglued. Jeeves untangled his limbs from my own, and we both passed the space of about a minute breathing stertorously and looking at each other with a wild surmise. I'm fairly sure my knotted and combined locks had separated and were giving the world's fretful porpentine population a run for its money.

Jeeves, who was still partially draped across the Wooster person, was the first to break the pregnant s. "Merciful heavens," he said, and he must have been severely of a doodah, for he forgot to tack on his customary "sir".

"Awfully sorry," I croaked.

"This is scarcely a moment for apologies, sir."

I started. "Really? You mean I haven't just made a colossal ass of myself again?"

"Hardly, sir."

"Golly, Jeeves! You enjoyed that?"

"Profoundly, sir."

I reeled, or would have, if I hadn't been horizontal. A thought had struck me like a thunderbolt. "That kiss you gave me yesterday, when you were teaching me . . ."

"Was not strictly for your edification, sir, no. I must confess that my motives were less than altruistic."

My heart did a few summersaults. "Lord love a duck!" I vociferated. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Yes, sir."

"Gosh!"

I mean to say, what? I had always known Jeeves was fond of me, and that he looked upon my fatheaded antics with an indulgent eye, rather like a kindly shepherd watching over a particularly loony sheep. That his feelings ran deeper than that was headline news to Bertram. It just goes to show that you think you know a chap, only to find out that he's been secretly harboring the tender pash for ages, pining away for you in silence as he presses your trousers day after day.

"Then you wouldn't object to an encore performance?" I said hopefully.

"To say that I would not object would be severely understating the facts, sir."

"Right ho, Jeeves," I said, and I reeled him in for a second round.

 

\---

 

"What do you call it, anyway?" I asked, when we finally resurfaced.

"Sir?"

"That kiss. Surely a wheeze that potent must have a name."

"It is merely a variation on an old technique, sir, known to our Gallic neighbors as a _baiser florentine_. You may know it as a French kiss."

I gaped. "A French kiss, Jeeves? That's all it is? But even I've heard of a French kiss. I thought this thing was some sort of top-secret gimmick you'd picked up from a Ganymedian guru."

"Not exactly, sir."

"Then why all the cloak and dagger stuff?"

"I do feel that discretion is of the essence in this matter, sir, for various reasons."

"Well, you always know best, Jeeves. I defer to your copious wisdom."

"Thank you, sir."

Another thought percolated through the old grey matter. "What about Margie and Fungus? Will there be a happy ending for those two young blisters?"

"I am inclined to believe so, sir. Both parties appear strongly motivated to surmount their differences."

"So they do. Still, we must keep our eyes peeled for further developments on that front. You never can be certain. You remember what happened with Madeline and Gussie."

"Vividly, sir."

"But there's no point furrowing the brow about it now. Sufficient unto the day is the thingummy, what?"

"Precisely, sir."

I paused to rest the bean thoughtfully on Jeeves's well-formed shoulder, for throughout the above spot of dialogue we were still comfortably intertwined. Somehow it hadn't occurred to either one of us to resume our habitual stations, and I wasn't about to bring the matter up. Let things sort themselves out naturally, was my general feeling on the subj. 

"I say," I said, "what about us?"

"Sir?"

"I mean, well . . . dash it, you know what I mean. Any more of those _baisers_ in the forecast?"

"I am amenable if you are, sir."

"With knobs on."

"I am delighted to hear it, sir."

We took a brief recess to give it another go.

"You really are a wonder, Jeeves," I said reverently, once we had unlocked the lips.

"Thank you, sir."

"I say, Jeeves."

"Sir?"

"These . . . these heliotrope pyjamas."

"Yes, sir?"

"If you like," I said, and I don't say there wasn't a tear in my eye as I did so, "you can destroy them."

I'll be dashed if the fellow didn't smile at me. "I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

 


End file.
